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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22835437">The Gift</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaggath/pseuds/Kaggath'>Kaggath</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 14:21:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,220</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22835437</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaggath/pseuds/Kaggath</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Gift</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A small red light blinked, indicating she was being summoned.</p>
<p>	“Yes?” the Treasurer’s electronic voice whispered in the otherwise quiet room. She was alone, reading.</p>
<p>	“Seems you have a package,” the Slicer’s tired, buzzing voice whispered back. A hint of a Rylothan accent diffused into the artificial voice. Unlike the Treasurer, an Anomid, Slicer had organic vocal cords. Much like the rest of him, they were simply augmented. </p>
<p>	“Do I now?” she asked, amused. She marked her place, giving the comm more attention now. </p>
<p>	“Should we go in for a pickup?” </p>
<p>	“I think I’ll go myself,” she said, gathering a few things. They were between missions, and she could use a little stretch. “I will bring the Infiltrator with me. Please inform the Tactician that I will be out for a few days,” the Treasurer instructed as she got ready. She could hear his pointed nails clicking as he tap tap tappad the message as they spoke. </p>
<p>	A package. She wondered from whom. Draping her heavy robe across her body, she pondered idly at what it could be. It was certainly a surprise. A delightful mystery for her. Under normal circumstances, if her expertise was needed the company would be contacted. This was some sort of personal affair.</p>
<p>	As she left her room, the Infiltrator was already waiting.</p>
<p>	“My ears were burning,” he said slickly. He was a Myke, with subtly blue skin and small chin tufts that perked as he smiled to her.</p>
<p>	“Of course they were,” she said back, cool even through her vocalizer as she brought her hand out to take the arm he’d offered to lead her with. He was an inconspicuous, unassuming man by design. Unremarkable to anyone who didn’t know him.</p>
<p>	“Where we heading?” he growled suggestively into her ear as if he were trying to flirt with her. </p>
<p>	“For now, to the shuttle.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p><strong>Transcript: Begin correspondence</strong><br/>
<em>Nerra</em>: The Treasurer will be away for a few days for personal business.<br/>
<em>Fera</em>: Understood. Should I send the Soldier to escort her?<br/>
<em>Nerra</em>: She said she is taking the Infiltrator.<br/>
<em>Fera</em>: Understood.</p>
<p>
  <strong>End correspondence</strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>	Lilianae pouted up to Fera, trailing a painted nail in circles across the Trandoshan’s scales. “Is it so easy to send me away?” she whined, batting her eyes at the tactician.</p>
<p>	“Of courssse not,” she rumbled down to the Zabrak, nuzzling her snout at the base of the woman’s horns. Lilianae lay on top of her, comfortably nestled on the Trandoshan’s wide, muscular chest. “I ssee you asss the mosst capable, the logical choice. If ssshe iss taking the Infiltrator, I doubt there would be need for your ssskill. Which meansss I have you all to mysself.” </p>
<p>	Lilianae smiled, self-satisfied, as Fera greedily pulled her closer. The Treasurer didn’t take off on personal business often, but she was still glad to not have drawn the short end. Escorting the Treasurer was part of the job, sure, but she would much, much rather be spending time with Fera in this moment. The deep, growlling purr that resonated in the other woman’s chest told her the feeling was mutual. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>	Sauvagii slapped his sticky hands on the table. Another dead end. He and the Slicer never really got on well, and the Infiltrator was having too much fun stringing him along. The Suerton sniper waddled up to the Soldier, who didn’t hide her contempt for him. </p>
<p>	“Hey hey baby, I’m not up to nothing….this time,” he said, spreading his hands out nonthreateningly. She scowled at him in response. “Look, other than Pilot, you’ve been here the longest, and I’m just curious, I’m just wondering, what do you think Treasure’s up to?” </p>
<p>	He would be lying to say he wasn’t nervous. She just up and left, no telling what she was up to, just gone, and all he heard from anyone was “personal business.” Got him a little jumpy. Like she was up to something. Like he might be in the hot seat. It was hard to tell with her sometimes, with that roundabout way of talking and double meaning. Sauvagii was a straightforward, eyes on the prize kind of guy. Around here he had to do a lot more watching his back than he was used to.</p>
<p>	As if summoned by the thought, the Trandoshan strode up behind him, towering above them both with a presence that wrapped possessively around Lilianae. She leaned against the wall, arms crossed. At ease. Inspecting him with one eye, edging on indifferent, she hissed, “Whatever sshe isss ‘up to’ is none of your busssiness.” </p>
<p>	Wide, waxy mouth pulling into a sneer, Sauvagii stalked away, outnumbered. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>	“Snipe’s in a tizzy about’chu,” Cyané said casually, feet up on the dash as he leaned back with his fingers laced behind his skull. The thing about the Infiltrator is he was in everybody’s business. The thing about the Treasurer is that she pays him to know everybody’s business. She was loyal to herself, he was loyal to credits, and as she was in charge of the money it worked in her favor. </p>
<p>	Turning her opalescent eyes to him, she waited for him to continue. </p>
<p>	“Wondering where we’re off to, what you’re up to.”</p>
<p>	“Is there any reason for him to be so suspicious? A guilty conscious perhaps?” Palliduus didn’t devote much thought to it for the moment. She was having too much fun wading through different possibilities, old contacts and acquaintances who may be trying to contact her. Aboard her own personal shuttle with loyalty bought, it was a comfortable place away from the tangled web of highly profitable interpersonal chaos. </p>
<p>	“I’d say out of everybody, he’s got the weakest leverage. Out of the loop, might be feeling a little vulnerable.” He raised an eyebrow to her with a slightly crooked grin. “And of course, plenty of leverage against him.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p><strong>Transcript: Begin correspondence</strong><br/>
<em>Sauvagii</em>: So what was it?<br/>
<em>Cyané</em>: It was just a package man.<br/>
<em>Sauvagii</em>: Yeah but what was in it?<br/>
<em>Cyané</em>: She hasn’t opened it.<br/>
<em>Sauvagii</em>: You’re a fucking spy what do we even pay you for?<br/>
<em>Cyané</em>: You pay me for a great many things that the Tactician would be very unhappy to hear about.<br/>
<em>Sauvagii</em>: Look I’m sorry.<br/>
<em>Cyané</em>: I only take “sorry” in the form of commas in my ledger pal.<br/>
<strong>[Notification: Credit transfer to your account]</strong><br/>
<em>Cyané</em>: And you’re forgiven. </p>
<p>
  <strong>End correspondence</strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>	“You’re smirking.”</p>
<p>	“He is really on it about your present. Who’s that even from, anyway?”</p>
<p>	The Treasurer blinked at him, expression flat. “A friend,” she said. </p>
<p>	“A very good friend,” Cyané purred, eyeing the packaging that obviously wrapped a bottle. A small box, and a gift of wine. It had been a while since she’d heard from that man. It was an unexpected pleasure.</p>
<p>	“I will not be sharing,” she teased him, before clutching her gifts close, disappearing into her private quarters for the flight back to the ship. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>	He had to be messing with him. Just had to be. Had to be lying. There was no way, no damn way she’d left the whole ship for a book and a drink. Sauvagii couldn’t even try searching the holonet for some sort of clue without pinging the Slicer. Apparently it was some sort of cultural thing that would tip off the Twi’lek. </p>
<p>	But then again, what kind of story was called the Coward King?</p>
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